


By the Riverside

by Quixotic_Punchline



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Just a heads-up there is...parent-child tension, Other, So if you're uncomfortable with this theme then it might be best to leave this work alone, also there is exploration of the discrimination that is mentioned in lore, so yea heads up for that too i guess, there's no violence or anything but i just wanna make sure everyone's filled in
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quixotic_Punchline/pseuds/Quixotic_Punchline
Summary: I wanted to write something about TF's childhood, especially the moment when he was exiled from his family. This work will probably be a couple of chapters long so stay tuned :)





	By the Riverside

It was hot.

The air was sluggish; the cool breezes that usually stirred the river reeds with their gentle fingers had disappeared, stranding the colourful gypsy barques along the stagnant waters of the Serpentine. In the distance, workers scampered to and from the small merchant vessels docked at the wharves. Orders and curses alike were thrown carelessly about by the ships’ crews; exact words were lost to the irritating buzz of the river insects. The sun beat mercilessly on anyone and anything that was foolish enough to step out of the protective cover of their homes. If the heat wasn’t enough of a deterrent to the townsfolk, the smell of rotting meat—baked to red heaps of putrid flesh—emanated from some of the cargo ships that had not yet cleared out their provisions.

On one of the barques, the boy had fashioned a small cubbyhole from some wooden planks that had been lying near the embankment. Stretching himself on his belly, he sighed at the coolness of the oak wood and began flipping through a leather-bound notebook he had found while sorting through the extra wares left from the merchants’ barge. The notebook had become a sort of treasure for the boy, providing a means of imaginative escape from the tiring shifts on the decks. Shifting his weight on one arm, he drew out a card from his breast pocket and twirled it with a practiced motion. A yellow glow pulsed from the card, casting soft blurs of light on the book. Inside, hand-drawn illustrations of the region’s variegated flora and fauna rippled gently across the crinkled pages: river otters that harboured light blue streaks on its back from bathing in the Serpentine’s tributary waters, multi-coloured water-flowers that anchored themselves to the riverbeds with their thick vines, and sweetnuts that grew in wheel-sized clusters near the roots of leafy trees. If only, he thought, I could get a whole week just to explore around here. It’s too hot now, but Elder Sanja said it was going to rain tomorrow. Maybe I could sneak out tonight. I could pick some nettleberries for Ariel; maybe I could even cross through to the other side of the town. The boy felt his pulse quicken at the thought of finding a blooming sharp-toothed ivy or some other curiosity in the dimly-lit trails of the surrounding marshes. We might not get to come back until next year. There’s always someone shooing us away. If only— 

“Tobias! Get out here and look lively, will you?” A man’s stern voice interrupted his reverie.

The boy groaned and curled further into the bunk. It was too humid to be doing repairs, but he knew that his father would always find a way to “look lively” before the townspeople. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves murmuring against the boat. 

“Tobias! I’m not telling you again!” If he didn’t respond to his father now, he risked having to give up his cards for a week. Tobias scrambled out from his hiding-place, quickly deposited the book in a corner of the cubby, and made for the front of the barque. His father was scanning the other boats scattered unevenly along the riverbank. Tiptoeing forward, Tobias drew himself up to meet his father’s piercing gaze.

Much as he admired his father’s strength and resourcefulness, Tobias had sensed that his father never truly felt comfortable with life on the river. Despite his abilities in manning and fixing the boats that were the lifeline of the community’s existence, Keel Foxtrot seemed to find no personal pleasure in his work, especially when they docked near a town that was less-than-tolerant of the river-gypsies’ presence. It especially pained Tobias to see his father, a tall, serious man whose very presence commanded respect from even the elders, turn silently away from the jeers of grimy urchins and tavern lowlifes. Even if you beat a drunkard, you’ve only beaten a drunkard, his father would say, but Tobias could see the rage and shame that quaked underneath his father’s calm demeanour after these encounters. Perhaps it was this social impotence—and the subsequent desire to remove himself from the label of the “dirty river-rat”—that made Keel so willing to appear industrious, in spite of the knowledge that such focus on his craft made him even more of a target for those who always preferred to see the river-folk flounder with their ships. Today was no exception. 

“What have you been doing?”

“I was just…playing around with my cards,” Tobias mumbled.

“Fooling around again? If you have nothing to do, you should find something to occupy yourself. Look at the men out there—” Keel gestured to the workers scampering across the docks. “They are working despite the heat. What will they think of us gypsies if we were all loafing around as you are?” Tobias lowered his head, silent. The air suddenly seemed to press down upon his back.

“Elder Sanja herself should know better,” Keel grumbled. “She indulges the young too much—they will come out knowing everything there is to learn about magic but nothing about practical matters.” Tobias tensed; his father openly disliked the “old ways” of the elders. He doesn’t have to hate magic like this, thought Tobias, He doesn’t have to blame Elder Sanja. It’s not her fault that the locals tell us to leave. It’s not because they’re scared of magic that they call us names, it’s because—

He felt his father’s leathery hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and saw his father’s weary face next to his.

“Tobias,” his father said quietly, “You’re old enough to start learning a trade—it will help you adapt to the life of the locals, much more so than whatever magic you have learned. You must begin your work as soon as possible, if you want an easier time among the locals.” Tobias was silent. “Do you understand? People will always see us differently, because they don’t want to change how they see us. So it’s our job to adapt to our situation. You will only be a burden to us if you don’t change. You must get rid of your attachment to magic, along with whatever knickknacks that distract you from work,” Keel squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “They only show the world how poorly children like you can turn out.”

“Why don’t the elders say something?” Tobias blurted out, his cheeks flushing with heat and hurt and humiliation at his father’s remarks. “Why don’t you say anything? Why do you all have to take it?”

At first, Keel did not respond. He straightened himself and turned back towards the assembled boats, ignoring the boy’s trembling frame. Then he spoke, in a tone that cut any protestations Tobias could have made into pieces. 

“Go to the tents and see to it that your mother has all the materials she needs. You can go into town, but if you’re not running errands and simply lolling around I’ll see to it that your cards sink to the bottom of this goddamned river.”


End file.
